LIFE BEFORE DEMENTIA
This is just a potted view of our life before finding out how devastating dementia can become. I will endeavour to explain how I see, and have tried to cope with the world of dementia after our idyllic existence change drastically, and although I'm sure everyone's version of dementia is different this is our story, and how the girls and I have tried to cope.
Throughout my life I've always had to play catch up - because the basic education I received didn't start until the second world war had ended, and I'd already started work in 1946. It helped because there was a job already waiting for me as my father, a qualified heating engineer had left his job to work for himself - not as a heating engineer, but as a self employed painter and decorator, and I was to be his apprentice. I continued my tuition for three and a half years. It was hard work and I learnt how to work quickly because the sooner the job was finished the more money we made, but at no stage were the customers satisfaction compromised - my dad was a perfectionist which rubbed off on me I'm pleased to say. This working practice stayed with me until I found the connection from brain to feet was know longer reliable - some two years ago, and I was forced to be more cautious when extensive tests showed I was suffering from peripheral neuropathy and many nerve cells were damaged, and I was know longer to control my feet as I used to.
Having started life in Leytonstone which is in East London by the time I met my lovely Irene I'd moved to Woodford. This was definitely a good move as I probably would never have known the life or wife I've had. Mind you the circumstances were also controlled by the war - because during the Blitz the house that Irene lived in was in Hackney, and after a particularly bad night of bombing it was very badly damaged. Luckily they weren't there at the time. When her family saw the destruction a land mine had caused to their house and those around them they put everything of value into the kitchen, which was the only place unscathed. Fate took part again - the next night an incendiary device came through the open roof, and landed in the kitchen.
For the next few months Irene, her mother Florence, and two sisters Evelyn and Elsie travelled between a London warehouse basement, and Elsie's boyfriends parents home. Eventually, and luckily, an uncle living in Woodford found a rented property for the Morey family to live in just two doors away from him. If it hadn't been for that, my Irene would have remained undiscovered.
Move on now to when we were in our teens, the war had ended - Irene was hooked on dancing, and yours truly on sport and living things. Fate again took part because a couple of mates wanting to try out a local youth centre, and that evening they were holding a dance. That was when Irene and I met for the first time, and although I was no Fred Astaire love blossomed. Now fast forward two and a half years - I'd been seeing Irene most evenings, and we knew how we wanted our lives to plan out. It seems strange now after all these years when moral codes have almost be eroded - how wrong the thing that happened next seemed - you've guessed it - Pamela our eldest was on her way.
At first we kept everything to ourselves - only telling close friends. We both knew all we wanted to do was get married, and after the initial disruption that's exactly what we did do on August 10th 1949 - Pamela was born the following December. Life was hard, but we were happy living in one room in the house next door but one to Irene's uncle Stan. I was still working for my father when I was called upon to do my National Service in the R.A.F. This was to be the making of me and many others, and luckily although I had all the jabs I never left England, and was able to get home most free week-ends - a huge plus. Not long before I was due out they slapped on an extra six months to my time in the R.A.F, and although those few months slipped away quickly we knew there'd be another mouth to feed four months after I came out in the following March.
With two children and a job to come out to I was fairly content, but desperate to earn more than I'd done in the past. Help was at hand as the people next door had a son-in-law who worked for a firm called Kelvin & Hughes. He was a progress chaser, and there was a position vacate for a bakelite moulder at twelve pound a week - double to what I was picking up with my dad. Even though I had no idea what the job entailed I was determined to take it, but unfortunately hadn't explained the situation to my dad before he saw the acceptance letter - you can guess I was relieved when he told me I'd be a mug if I didn't move on.
I worked for Kelvin and Hughes for quite a few years during which time Irene kept badgering the council for accommodation until we were finally housed in a spacious council flat - that's when my gardening really took off because with each flat came a large piece of ground to cultivate - I can't tell you how happy we were.
The move to Bournemouth came about because both Irene and my family holidayed here in Bournemouth. My dad thought if Irene, and my mum could do a bit of `Bed & Breakfast' we'd make enough money in a couple of years to put a deposit on a house. That two years turned out to be seven with growing children being spoilt by loving grandparents. When we stepped into our very first house at number 12 Stourfield Road it was sheer bliss. At this stage chrysanthemums were my main interest and showing them was my priority. Oh I knew the dahlia was there waiting in the wings for when I retired, but for now general gardening, and the chrysanthemum was enough. Even moving to a better house on the main road between Bournemouth to Christchurch didn't convince me that the king of the hybrids was better in every way. Our next move to 104 Petersfield road was a challenge as the garden was about twice the size I'd been used to and it allowed me to add a few dahlias to add a bit of colour. Gradually the number increased as did the spectacle. This is when my association with charities began first Tenovus, and a brief one year stint with Breakthrough Breast Cancer. Open week-ends followed every year with various charities until we moved to our present address. I know for certain Irene was okay up to this point, and I'd promised my self I would cut back - well I'd have to because the garden was twice as small. Charities were the last thing I thought about with such a large amount of work to do both inside and out. Gradually the work was finish and things started to look like home, and we grew round our new home with the added convenience of no stairs. At the time I didn't take much notice of this luxury, but as the years progressed what a blessing it has been both for Irene and my self.
I suppose the I first noticed something was different with Irene was about two years ago - little things like not being able to bring certain words and phases out. I don't mean when you need a screw driver and by the time you get to the tool box - you have to go back to the job you were doing to find out what it was you wanted. Things took on a new name - tomato sauce became "The red stuff" the radiator in the hall, when it was on was "The hot thing in the hall" Oh it was funny at first - I think I conjured up visions of a French maid who lived in the hall at one stage, but as I realised how far, and how quickly things where moving on - the urgency of being able to cope became apparent - that is when I decided to try and give an account of my experiences in an article, and maybe others would benefit - so here goes.